


Old thoughts.

by charlie_avvakir



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie_avvakir/pseuds/charlie_avvakir
Summary: Some old stuff I wrote in a bad place. Any thoughts?I've wanted to share this for a while, and this occurred to me as the only anonymous way to do it. Comments would be... appreciated?





	Old thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> ...this is too long. I think it might have added up to about an hour of frantic writing--? Don't read it all XD.

Don’t touch the pumpkin pie. The cookies are fine; milk chocolate though they are. Though milk chocolate they are. Pardon my French-isms. Hell, fuck this life. If I hade a contention for it all I would never be able to understand it. That special factor that is organization; if it’s there, you can either understand it or not. WHAT DOES GOD WANT? I can write it down while chewing happy wet crescents into my fingers, I can put it all on paper, but even labeled with titles and faces, nothing makes sense. I’m bad; irrevocably bad, bad, bad, I don’t understand, can’t do it, italics don’t make things better. SHUT UP. 

Wait. Try again.

SHUUUUT UUUUUUPPPPP!!!!

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UPSHUTUPSHUTYOPSUHTPU.

Shut.up.shut.upshutupshutup.SHUT. UP.

Haha. Think I might die. I already will. corn today? No corn. Corn is BAD. We don’t know that, though. Better check. NUTRITUON FCTS: don’tthinkaboutittoomuch. Oops . just-Did.  got better? -no,prbbbly.  
Why is my stomach boiling? It stopped. Why does my *** feel so heavy? I’m expanding, I think. Might be shrinking. Is corn bad? Don’t touch the pumpkin pie. The peanuts are fine; check the back. but don’t think about it too much. FUCK THIS. 

fuck THIS.

FUCK. WHAT BULLSHIT. you are the grinch; santa doesn’t exist. Babies. Bitches. Punctuation doesn’t deserve to exist. Too hard. I want a cookie. Those are bad. They are cardinal. Idontknowwhatthatmeans. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT.

I want to draw a dying man, and make his eyes bleed. I want to shroud the page in black scribbles, NO STOP DON’T COME NEAR I DON’T WANT ONE I DON WANTIT IDONT WANT ITTTTTTT. I know. Cookies are bad. Eat half, pass it on. What do you want? Too sweet; I want more. It granulates in my crevices; I gorge it down my orifices. Don’t come near me with the warm sweetsand; those tawny, melting orbs from the oven. Pull them from my soul, and I will be warm. I google; howtoeatacookiewithouteatingacookie. Google? ha—stupid.do you think it knows? DOES ANYBODY KNOW

Don’t drink black tea with yellow-packet sugar. Tastes like fish—wesay we like fish, don’t we. 

Do we like fish? I think about the pie. I think about entropy. Curiosity killed the cat. I ate the pie---did I eat the pie? Entropy ate the pie. FUCK.

Three minutes have passed. Don’t talk to me. It tickles like a stone rolling in my stomach. I dont have the patience for stories. Here’s one. 

Bubbly giggles, dropping from his lips. That makes it sound romantic. The BABY is crying. Tears are dropping from his eyes, giggles from his lips. Wait--Not giggles. Haha. Not giggles—sobs? Round, wet sobs. like bubbles. My sobs are never round. Babies cry differently from adults, I guess. I’m not an adult, I guess. But definitely not a baby. I’m not that light---as I am heavy, so therefore my sobs grate. They RACK. 

“will she come?”  that’s the other room. 

NO. don’t ask me, don’t ask that I don’t want to come. STOP. WALKING. TOWARDS. ME. 

“will you come?”

…………………………………………“yeah”

Look at that; another person stares into space. Haha. Hahaha. hahahhhahhahhahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. They may notice. We all want for childhood. I think we all want for childhood. One sings and whistles – “so he can stay happy”—one eats . One stares. ONE WRITES. Does this make me an adult? I already waved goodbye to childhood. It was a sad thought, I guess. I don’t know why. 

New day; (no it’s not). I went. I came back. My face itches. My face burns. It throbs and contorts. My eyes try to hide; they try to hide behind my furrowed brow. They may notice. I want to scream. I want it to be worse so I can scream. I want to be alone so I can scream. It’s just wrong. Everything is not enough or too much. I don’t think I could draw right now; even if the man was dead. What was better? This now, or that then? At least I still don’t know what I want. They must think I am writing something useful. I don’t know that. I think it is harder now; I keep DELETING MY FUCKING WORDS.  
STOP DELETING YOUR WORDS. I tell myself. Now what do I say? My *** feels heavy, my mind is itchy. I want to be tired now. But what was better; that then or this now? I CANT STOP IT NEEEDS TO STOP STOP PITYING YOURSELF. Fuck this. FUCK this. 

A NEW DAY.---no its not.

Kill me now. No wait don’t, they’ll see you writing it. Just STOP looking at me. Don’t look at me. Will you read my words? Will you hate my thoughts? Can you feel my mind? Does it cluster around you, nuzzle your cheeks, will you stop now? Are you scared? Of course not. What do you feel? Can you understand me? DO YOU SPEAK? Can I go back? 

I feel like an overflowing cup. He just walked to me; this man. He is safe, but makes me feel like I will spill OVER. DON’T TOUCH ME DONTSPEAKTO ME I DON’T WANT YOU TO. I cant tell if I’m scared. Probably not. Look; someone else is angry. She must be overflowing too. I think I’m okay now, until I’m not again. DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T ASK M E TO COME DON’T DO IT DON’T DON’T DONTDONT. I think I’m okay now. How long will this –thing—hold out? I can write here for hours, maybe. I cant tell. Just sitting right here. Write here. Hahha. Move off the chair; do it. DO IT. Dumb *****. I think I’ll leave now. Fuck you.

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't bring myself to even cut it down. 
> 
> This is from when I was grappling with what you could possibly consider the beginnings of compulsive exercise and disordered eating. The part where I "left" and came back was going to the gym. 
> 
> ...if you relate.....leave a comment?


End file.
